I am probably kidding myself, but I am telling myself he did not suffer too much. He’d gotten thin as he had gotten older, actually quite thin, but I didn’t think there was anything amiss till last May. During a regular exam, the vet didn’t hear any breathing in one lung. She took an Xray. She saw a mass and showed me the film, with its big white angry blob in the middle of a much more subdued grey-black pattern of bones and organs. She said it might be cancer, told me what it would take to firm up the diagnosis, and that he could get chemo. I didn’t think it was right to put a 15 year old cat through that. She said he’d stop eating if it was cancer and that he could go very suddenly.

He came home and continued to show his long-standing keen interest in being fed, so I put it out of my mind. But last Monday when he was napping next to me I could hear his breathing was labored and he didn’t get up to nosh, which he normally does. His breathing improved but he was subdued in a way I hadn’t seen him save a few day spell when he was a kitten, when he’d gotten his ribs badly bruised. He was smart enough that it seemed possible back then that he was having a cat think about his mortality. Last week, he knew he was dying.

I took him to the vet my other cat sees on Wednesday (I’d switched Blake to a different vet when I was considering taking him to Australia, since then only two vets in Manhattan could certify animals for that, but I hadn’t liked the aggressiveness of the upselling when Blake was discovered to be sick). Their reaction was basically, “They found a pulmonary mass last May and he’s still alive?” They gave him an appetite stimulant and a supply to give him at home. I asked about getting palliatives. They needed to do bloodwork. Due to communication delays, he didn’t go back in until Saturday. He got two shots, vitamin B-12 and an opiate.

By late last week, Blake was eating much less than usual and barely leaving my bed. He was so brave about his condition. Just yesterday, he went to the bathroom to get water. He had trained me many years ago to give him water from the tap. First he jumped into bathtub to drink drops from the faucet, then by hopping into the tub and licking the spout he would ask me to turn it on, then by transferring that behavior to the bathroom sink, which has a swan neck faucet. By now, he just had sit on the bathroom counter and look at the faucet to get me to do his bidding.

I turned the spigot on and went into the shower. I also put a small glass of water near the sink, since he also preferred drinking from a glass to drinking from a bowl. He’d always liked just looking at the stream, the way people enjoy watching the play of fountains. But I could see him hesitate with his neck stretched out a long time before drinking, as if he didn’t want to but knew he needed to. Then he’d drink a little bit, first from the sink and then the little glass, with long intervals in between. After I got out of the shower, he walked some difficulty over to the other end of the counter and gazed at the bathtub spout. I opened the sliding door wider to make it easier for him to get in and turned on a thin stream. Later, I saw him lying in the tub, near the spout, watching the water run.

Similarly, over the last few days, I was having to feed him in bed. He’d refuse most food, even treat food like cream and salmon and novelties like kitten milk, but when I’d bring him something he’d want to eat, he would take a few bites, then turn his head away. I kept praising him when he ate and pleaded with him when he stopped. I’d wait a minute or two and put the food again under his nose, and he’d usually eat a bit more. We’d repeat until he’d move away to let me know he really was done. It was pretty clear he was eating more than he wanted to to please me.

That was one of the things that makes it so hard to lose him. He was an exceptionally considerate, if also sometimes willful, cat. When I petted him, he’d always insist on reciprocating by washing my hand or face, usually out of proportion to how much he had been petted. Even last week, when he was failing, he’d often try to get a few swipes in. He’d also head-butt, very hard, in the morning, when he wanted me to pet him. I’d pull the sheets over my head and yell at him but that did not deter him. When I first got him, he’d sleep in the bed but only briefly next to me, usually then under my armpit, and if I moved at all, he’d leave. But over the years he’d sleep more regularly next to me, and would even crawl under the sheets.

Similarly, unlike most cats, he would not stoop to the “insert cat between human and work to get attention” ruse. When I had a black and white NeXT monitor, he’d hang out on top until he got too big to do that, he’d come by and visit and sometimes sit on my lap or next to me in the desk chair. The last time he came into the living room was to lie on my lap.

I got Blake from a recently divorced woman in Staten Island who was breeding Abyssinians on behalf of an established breeder. He was 5 months old and had been kept beyond the usual age for selling kittens because the breeder thought he could be a show cat. Even though he was particularly handsome, he apparently was growing up to look just like his father, so they didn’t need him for breeding purposes. When I came, they also had a new litter of five kittens. The kittens romped and Blake, the lone older cat, sat aside and watched them. Even though he seemed unusually quiet, he was plenty playful when I got to see him by himself and pulled out a dangle toy I’d brought. A friend who had come with me to look at the cats me said he reminded her of one she’d had, a very soulful cat who’d lived to be 18, and urged me to take him home. The woman’s two children had become very attached to him and cried when we drove to the ferry. They had given the cats Disney-type names. His mother was Lady and he was Lover Boy. I had trouble settling on a name for him, particularly since he initially seemed to be very sad for having left his old home. I called him Blake after the poet.

When I got serious about going to Australia, I thought about taking him, but he would have had to fly 22 hours in cargo, in his own urine, and then go into quarantine for 5 weeks. That seemed cruel, even though the alternative of leaving him behind was painful. He had admirers and one took him, but Blake hissed at the roommate after the first week or so, and it was the roommate who held the lease, so Blake was out. He lived for the better part of a year in a large dot-com office where people were there 9 AM till after midnight routinely. He would get out and eventually explored every office of the full-city-block, 3 story high building in the meatpackng district. He was not only a good mouser but a good guard cat. Two men came in from the neighboring office one weekend through a back door that was pretty much never used to borrow some cable. He chased them out.

I didn’t think I’d get him see him again after I came back to the US, but a fellow who worked in that office adopted him, but later got engaged, and as he put it, “My fiance is not a cat person.” So Blake came back, after I’d gotten a new kitten who thought that because he was here first from his perspective, he was the alpha. And even though Blake was the much stronger of the two cats and could easily have beaten up the young cat, he never did. He would usually run rather than fight and defer in most matters, except food, where he’d shoulder the young cat away from his bowl. If I saw the move, the young cat would sometimes give me a “What just happened?” look before going to the other bowl.

I suppose I’m just nattering. I’m recounting stories I’ve regularly told about Blake, so it’s not as if I’ll forget them. But I’m so desperate to hold on to all the little things he’d do that made him special, like the way he’d jump up to high counters, by grabbing with his front paws and using his back legs to push off the flat surface to get the last bit of the way up. That unusual way of jumping allowed him to do some things that would be hard for most cats, like get up to the top of the bottom pane of the large casement windows in the living room and perch there. Another trick was that he’d sometimes hop into far end of the bathtub when I was showering, risking getting sprayed if I turned the wrong way. He seemed to like the steam and getting his feet wet.

I don’t cry easily and I find it very difficult to cry for myself. But I’ve spent most of last week in tears, particularly when I’d come and tell Blake that I loved him and how terribly I was going to miss him and how sorry I was that I couldn’t help him feel better. If I were him, I probably would have thought, “I’m the one who’s dying, what do you have to be upset about?” But one of those times I came to pet him and started sobbing, he purred loudly. I’d like to believe he was saying goodbye in the only way he could.

When I went to the vet yesterday, he made clear what I already knew, that the Blake was a goner, to the point he recommended against wasting money on new Xrays. But he also said, “He’s has a good long life, he’s going on 19.” I told that Blake was only 16. But this was the vet Blake had gone to right after I’d taken him from Staten Island. And there it was, in my own handwriting, that his date of birth was 11/16/97. Because I’d given him away when I went to Oz in 2002, and never thought I’d get him back, I’d somehow gotten it in my head that he was only three years old then, since I would be loath to take an adult cat much older than that. And that said I’d gotten what I had wanted. I had wanted Blake to live to be 18. But I had managed to fool myself that that meant I would have a couple of more years with him.

I also am trying to persuade myself I was not selfish in not putting him down. Most Abys don’t like being handled, and when he saw the vet yesterday, Blake worked up the energy to hiss when he got his shots. I wasn’t reconciled yet to putting him down. I recoiled at the idea of being the one to kill a being I cared so much about.

Since he was still eating although so little that he would clearly eventually starve. I planned to bring him to be euthanized early this week, and I thought it was OK to be keeping him alive since did seem to perk up a bit last night after the last vet visit. He ate some kitten food four times over the evening in tiny bursts of enthusiasm and did purr a little bit when I petted him later that night.

But this morning, I brought him some water. Even with him knowing I wanted him to drink it, he gave only two or three licks, which I knew was a bad sign. About a half hour later, he started gasping for air and then made a loud, heart-wrenching moan. I picked him up and moaned again. I put him down in a panic, ran to the phone to call the vet, and ran back to pick him up again. He’d gone limp. I carried him to the phone. As I sat down, he gasped once more and then he was gone.

I had wanted to brush him today, since that was something he particularly enjoyed. But like so many of the things you wish you could have done for someone at the end, there wasn’t enough time.

People don’t generally want to be put down at the end of life. They use those last days to replay memories, think last summing-up thoughts, see other people for the last time.
Why would it necessarily be different with cats? It sounds like your cat had a full fair last chance to re-think all memories and last thoughts and see its people for a final time.

My condolences. My cats Rocky and Simba died @ 15 and 16 years old. I have pictures over my desk so I remember. I still have one cat(Kit-Kat 8 years old) so take some time and adopt a shelter cat. It will make a difference.

So sorry to hear about the loss of your beautiful kitty. It’s so hard when they go. He sounds like he was a really special guy. I hope you’re getting lots of hugs from people who understand what a huge loss it is.

We’ve put several beloved cats down over the years, I had one moan and pass in my arms. It’s never easy, there’s no perfect way to get through it, you look and listen and love and do the best you can. You and Blake did it as perfect as it can be done. He lived and loved and crossed the rainbow bridge on his own terms and is beyond pain. Your pain must be outweighed by your love and memories of many happy years together and a bond that will last a lifetime. Blake is beautiful.

My older sister was an animal rescuer so I’ve have stream of these wonderful beings run through my life. I know the tears. There’s a reason the Buddhists consider all sentients in the mix. May you and all sentients find the causes and conditions of happiness. May you and all sentients achieve Liberation!

We lost our cat Jack in 2015 due to kidney failure at the age of 15. Towards to end he refused to eat or drink. Like your cat, he had us trained and we had our routines. Family smothered him with love and he gave it back. Devastating doesn’t begin to describe his passing. My condolences Yves.

My sincere condolences to you Yves. What an absolutely handsome and wise looking fellow. Cats never really leave. There’s something about them that makes the memories last forever. Which is a good thing.

My condolences on your loss of a dear friend and companion. I think Blake was lucky to have you with him at the end. He had a graceful death, as such things go, due in no small part to your love and care.

“It’s good that Blake died at home.” We should all die at home. No nursing home for me or Phyl. Those places are now just little death factories. I suspect that Yves will feel better about this in the long run because she showed Blake how much she cared about him. As someone above said, “A pride of two, (actually three.)”

Oh, what a genius cat Blake must have been, to wend his way into your life so fully that he even trained you to turn on the tap. Given that he was smart enough to spend several years mousing at a dot-com, he was evidently quite a guy. Felines are such a strange mix of contrariness, independence, and soft purring… what an honor that such a handsome rascal decided you were his favorite person. Clearly, his trust was warranted up to his final gasp.
Deepest condolences.

A friend of mine once said that animals incarnate with their own journeys, and that being with a certain person is part of their journey. Blake and you walked with each other. And from reading your story, I believe he wanted to walk to with you until he was sure he could go no further.

I can only hope that this island of cats, really, no dogs and more cats than people, can soothe your hurts feelings. You have my condolences for Blake. Please look at the video and pics when you feel up to it.
Sincerely
Paul

So sorry to hear about Blake. I’m glad you shared all these stories about Blake, who sounds like a fine cat indeed! I had a cat, Parfait, who also outlived her diagnosis of kidney disease by quite a bit too. It’s so hard to lose a beloved fur companion, who we spend so much time with. Grief is necessary and very hard. Be well, be kind to yourself.

One thing I do wonder – due to the gap in our understanding of how our animal companions truly feel – is how much they truly do suffer in their last few days. I talked to someone once who saw an animal dying and, as he was about to put the animal out of it’s misery, he found himself paralyzed at the sense of peace he saw in the animal. He said he used to advocate the ending of an animal’s suffering before then – but he’s not so sure now. In many ways I think that there is freedom in dying on one’s own terms – in letting life play out within the confines of one’s will. I can imagine it being the same for animals – but we’ll never know.

Yves, I am so sorry to hear of your loss of your beloved Blake. It is so hard to lose someone you love and who is part of your family. Take comfort In knowing that he had a loving home with you and know that he’ll always be with you. You gave him much happiness and he, you. Love does not end. Blake had such beautiful eyes!

I’ve appreciated NC links in support of animals and obviously you appreciate the deep connections with them.

When we lost our truck of a Corgi Penny of 18 years, my husband said he could not go thru that loss again and didn’t want to get another dog. After two years I couldn’t stand being without a dog and we now have dainty Speck, a part Chinese Crested rescue. Completely different personality than Penny but no less endearing.

We’ve already steeled ourselves for when she goes on her etherial journey by remembering that sharing our lives outweighed the loss.

We were just reminicing about Penny today and still miss her.

We appreciate what you are feeling with deepest condolences.
Sincerely, Ping

It is better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all. That goes for cats like Blake as well as people. I hope you can love again real soon.

My condolences,

Steven

P.S. As I write this I am looking across the room at Eddie, our 20 – 23 year old cat. Eddie has a brain tumor and will not be with us much longer. But right now, life is pretty good for him. He is on my wife’s lap, snoozing on an afghan beneath the book she is reading. We got Eddie 12 years ago from the Humane Society through their ‘Snuggles for Seniors’ program. For a few years after we got him at the advertised age of 8 (our vet had his doubts), Eddie was still able to leap tall buildings at a single bound. I would have named Eddie FDR. He still believes the whole world loves him, everyone who comes through the front door and even the big black cat with whom during his one of his great escapes he briefly shared the wall of our community pool (when it was not terrorizing other neighborhood cats) . We would gladly pay whatever price we will have to pay – the price you are paying now – when we lose him to have our time together with him again. But, as with Blake, I guess that’s not the way life works.

Oh that just sucks. As a cat person I am saddened to hear of this. It is obvious that you gave Blake very good care during his stay here on Earth. I do believe the two of you will be reunited eventually.

Yves, your eulogy for Blake is just so beautiful and deep. As Wallace Stevens wrote, “Death is the mother of beauty.” In your sadness, remember this: Blake was one hell of a lucky cat to have you as the human companion who loved him.

I’m so sorry for your loss. Cats are incredible creatures, and your beautiful Blake looks like he is an Abyssinian – they are truly special. An Abby/Tabby mix owned me for 8 years before we had to put him down from progressive jaw cancer – I used to call him “little man dressed in a cat suit” because he had so much presence and personality.

Two months ago I lost a ferret to cancer after just 4 years with me and it happened when I was away on a business trip. You at least saw your friend till he took his last breath. I could only visit the grave she was buried in on the side of a cliff looking out to the sea. I wish I shared her last moments.

Deep condolences, Yves. But your post just brought him to elegant and soulful life for all of us! And it is a feline text: meandering yet full of purpose. So he is still with you. My beautiful and wise Pipa died from here more than eleven years ago but –although uber rational, a natural skeptic — I speak to her every day. The loss is all enveloping but it will fade and he will be, somehow, with you.

I’m really sorry for your loss. I’m glad you shared your stories of Blake with us on the internets. It sounds like he was a good cat and one of those one of a kind pets (or maybe you were his one of a kind human as Montaigne might suggest).

I’m so sorry for your loss Yves. It must be very hard to say good bye to such a long time friend who was so special. I’ve always had a harder time saying good bye to the pets in my life than people, but I think lots of people secretly feel the same way. After 40 years of being a ‘dog person’ and despite rather severe cat allergies, I’ve been won over by a little Siamese Rag-doll I rescued from a storm drain almost a year ago. I am already dreading the day when I will need to say goodbye to her, but in truth who knows which of us will check out first. None of us are guaranteed a tomorrow and certainly not a long life like Blake’s. It sounds like he lived well and made the most his time here. I’m certain you were the best of companions and guardians and he was lucky to have had you as his cat mom. I would have made the exact same call on euthanasia, so please don’t feel bad about your decision, there’s never a right or wrong answer in situations like Blake’s.

Condolences, Yves, and thanks for sharing. I wish you and Blake all the best.

Yves, thanks for sharing the memories, even though the occasion is a very sad one for you.
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare rub thy fuzzy cat-belly?

When our two died within 6 months of each other, and we knew we’d be moving in another four, we bravely told ourselves we’d wait until after the move to get new ones. Besides, we thought, what cats could compare to stately Miles and scatterbrained Wynton? Four days later we were at the local Humane Society picking out two new kitties…seems we can’t live without them. You’ll find another to love, we’re sure.

the other day i couldn’t bring myself to share the loss, and personal shame of my ‘Kitty’. she ate less and less…stayed by the front door for a few days. a friend visited and offered to take Kitty with me to the vet, but i cried ‘she wouldn’t come back’…i just knew it. to this day (5yrs later) i can’t believe i was so selfish…the shame still lives deep inside me. i let my friend drive us to the vet and they put her down…she was too far gone with leukemia…she was only 5yrs old.
i was not in good shape for days (scared my daughter). but never being a cat person i was amazed at the love & companionship Kitty and i shared…i adored her and yet i still feel i let her down…suffered.

days later i received something that i still hold dear today…hope it comforts you, myYves:

I have passed a mountain peak and my soul is soaring in the
Firmament of complete and unbound freedom;
I am far, far away, my companions, and the clouds are
Hiding the hills from my eyes.
The valleys are becoming flooded with an ocean of silence, and the
Hands of oblivion are engulfing the roads and the houses;
The prairies and fields are disappearing behind a white specter
That looks like the spring cloud, yellow as the candlelight
And red as the twilight.

The songs of the waves and the hymns of the streams
Are scattered, and the voices of the throngs reduced to silence;
And I can hear naught but the music of Eternity
In exact harmony with the spirit’s desires.
I am cloaked in full whiteness;
I am in comfort; I am in peace.

Yves, thank you for sharing your grief and I’m so sorry for your pain. Kitties are such wonderful companions and give us such joy and pleasure. Blake loved you and will be with you in memory forever. May you find peace.

:-( It takes a little soft one who will not follow or be bullied to remind us of our own real nature. I lost a special little fellow to roommate turfing and I can’t ever forget the way he knowingly nuzzled my fingers through the holes in his cardboard carrier on the way to the no-kill shelter. Glad you had him so long.

My wife and I know how heart wrenching it is to hold them to the very last but wouldn’t have it any other way. Most lived nearly 20 years, with only some of the rescued ones, that so trusted us to to care for them even through months of home care (with great help from our Veterinarian), spending a shorter, but seemingly so much more enriching time with us.

I don’t think any, even the first ones we took in to finally end their suffering lasted quite long enough to actually be euthanized. The closest was “Spunky” (anything but from her lifelong suffering from injuries suffered before her rescue). I’m convinced, from the look in the emergency hospital vet’s eyes (not our regular one that Sunday), that she passed away as I held her just as he was about to administer the $300 shot. We didn’t question it at all, though, since the needle was already prepared before she passed on her own, as comfortable as we could make her.

Since then, they have passed at home, in our arms, though our wonderful Veterinarian has volunteered to come to our home to spend the last few minutes with all of us, ready to let it be completely natural or to end the suffering under the best of difficult circumstances we can manage.

As hard as it is, the love they inspire is passed on to the next cat that we always promise ourselves we never will get so attached to, despite saying the last rescued one would be the last.

The latest one, “Cheddar,” has been the most irresistible, and forces everyone to make room for him on their laps every chance he gets. He was the most trusting and loving when we first saw him when he was young, and expensive to patch up when severely cut up from other cats, with no one else thinking he was worth rescuing. We love them all, but he is extra special.

Dear Yves,
You gave each other such love and loyalty, I guess that is the best we do. My tears are for your profound loss. Thank you for sharing this beautiful portrait of the life you two shared. Not everyone has that…
From the other Blake: “we are put on Earth for a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love.”
My deepest thoughts to you.

So sorry for your loss. Thanks for sharing the moving eulogy. I’ve just begun living with a cat for the first time in maybe 30 years. I’ll give her a little extra brushing in memory of Blake. A sad and compassionate bow in your virtual direction.

Oh Yves, I’m so sorry for your loss. Your post brought tears to my eyes. I currently have an 11 year old tabby rescue and I can’t imagine life without her. She is currently the picture of health but I am already dreading her descent into her elder years and then eventual demise. Cats are such amazing little creatures, with as much capacity to love as dogs, and just as smart (if not smarter). Thank you for sharing with us all of those wonderful anecdotes about Blake. Sending supportive thoughts your way and wishing you much peace in the coming months.You gave Blake a good life.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to some-
one here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows
and hills for all our special friends so they can run and
play together. There is plenty of food, water, and sunshine
and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who have been ill and old are restored to health
and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong
again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times
gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small
thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be
left behind. They all run and play together, but the day comes when
one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are
intent; his eager body begins to quiver. Suddenly, he begins to run
from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him
faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend
finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to
be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your
hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more
into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your
life but never absent from your heart.

Yves how lucky you are to have been next to this kind feline soul, it’s difficult to explain how much love, understanding, compassion, camaraderie, and just plain good company these wonderful creatures can provide us. They teach us how to be loyal, how to move gracefully through life, and when to just lie back, close our eyes, and let someone else stroke our chins. I am sorry for your loss.
(And how lucky you are to have such a community of people around the web to share your loss with).
Godspeed, Blake

Not sure there is anything I can add, other than condolences and shared tears. Pets make us better people, and Blake sounds like he was a super kitty. Going to pet my two now. Maybe it’ll make me feel better.

Oh, my dear Yves, so sorry, so sorry! I have had dozens of critters over the years, as many as thirteen kittehs at once, so many, many, many partings over the decades. I have a kamiza (Japanese for place where the spirits sit) where I keep photos of my old friends. I currently have the truculent Princess Julia, a tuxedo cat, on my lap. She complains if I move, if she doesn’t like the food (which is mostly), if the other cat, Cutie, is in the same room (she thinks other cats are vermin) and basically about everything all the time. I am sitting here typing and tears are dripping off my face and Her Highness is complaining b/c I am dripping on her. I hope she lives forever.

My dear Yves, thank you for introducing us to Blake. The only thing worse than losing a beloved kitteh would be dying first and leaving them alone.

Re the euthanasia, you did right. I have learned that they let you know when, and if they don’t, they don’t need the help. Blake gave you the message, and you understood him. Peace.

Dear Yves,
Thank you for your wonderful tribute to Blake. I lost my own furry friend of nineteen years, Mr. Mewf, a wonderful Ragdoll tomcat, over the holidays. I took him to the local Humane Society, and a couple of days later, I got a card from them with the following sentiment, which I would like to share with you:
“May your heart know
that your pet is at piece”.
My deepest sympathies.

A touching tribute. How lucky you two were to find each other again after your years in Australia and to share so many years of love and companionship. My condolences for the loneliness you are feeling without Blake.

The words cannot convey the empty feeling when a being of such wonder and innocence departs.
But the quiet soul is still around you and you can speak with him – just need to stay still and listen. He will come and may even offer soothing words. The animals are so far ahead of us… The pain will subside, but he will never really leave you.

If you do go looking for another kitty, consider getting one at the shelter if you haven’t considered it or done so already. Many handsome lovable kitties to be found, who in some cases have come from difficult circumstances, that need a loving home and with the right look (and some pawing) from a kitty through the cage, can end up being the start of a long and fruitful relationship.

Very sorry to hear that, Yves. My good friend went into debt equal to about 1/4 of his yearly pay to get expensive treatments for his stupid cat, who’s finally recovered and is back to his old dumb self. I don’t know if it was the homo economicus rational decision, but they certainly seem to be happy together.

Regarding the first sentence: “…I am telling myself he did not suffer too much.” I’m quite sure that he didn’t suffer. As the saying goes and any medidator knows, “pain is inevitable but suffering is optional.” A cat, any cat, lives in the now, and (s)he will not experiment suffering, just the inevitable pain, which is quite endurable.

As someone who recently lost a cat that had be my most faithful partner for 15 years, I’m really sorry.

It was difficult for me to read your post about Blake as I just had to put down my 16 year old boy cat due to lung cancer too. He had lost so much weight at the end but when he started gasping for air I rushed him to the vet and put him down for fear I would be at work if he had another attack. He loved to be held tightly like a baby when he did not feel well so I was glad I could be there for him. My vet is a very empathetic man who has been thru this with me for other animals over the 16 years I have been going to him. After it was done, I was able to remain in the room as long as I needed and just hold and rock him. Losing an animal you love is just as painful as losing any human companion you love. I thank you for letting me share a little of my grief with you to let you know how much I understand how you feel.